Disorderly Conduct Page 14

  I shove to my feet and round on him. “Time to go, Burns.” I wedge the laptop beneath my arm, my spine vibrating with a surge of adrenaline. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, but it’s not exactly coming up roses for me, either. Get. Out.”

  His smirk doesn’t completely disguise his surprise. “What about the pie?”

  Oh, the nerve. “Take it to go, homie.”

  The bravado on his face thins as he stands, eyebrows dipping. “I really did want to help, Ever.”

  “No, you didn’t. You wanted to laugh at me.” My voice is just this side of hysterical, so I force my shoulders to relax. “Believe me, you’ve made it clear you find this hilarious. Me looking for the one.”

  “The one,” he says tonelessly. “Is that what you’re calling him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Are you going to make fun of that, too?” I set the laptop back down harder than I should have, and give him a pointed look. “I don’t need anyone’s help weeding out bullshit. I can do that myself.”

  He takes a step closer. “You have, haven’t you?”

  “Haven’t I what?”

  “Weeded out the bullshit.” The blue of his eyes is sharp enough to slice the atmosphere in two. “You’ve set up a date. Haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. I have.” My voice is like a whip cracking in the bright room. “This Friday. He’s training to be a firefighter. Any other questions?”

  “Yeah, about a million that you definitely didn’t ask him.” He’s shouting at me. Charlie? Is shouting at me? There is a restraint to his posture, almost like he can’t help but reassure me I’m safe, but that’s where his caution ends. His nostrils flare, and the muscles beneath his T-shirt are more present than before. Flexing, tightening. He’s downright furious at me. “Does he have a record? Why did he break up with his last girlfriend? Is he a safe driver?” Charlie advances and I back up, circling the couch backward to avoid him. “Does he know you move like a nervous fairy when you cook? Or that your real smiles are the ones that look kind of grudging?” He rakes a hand through his hair, leaving it looking a little wild. “I’m just trying to be a good friend, Ever, and make sure you go out with someone who deserves you.”

  “I think y-you should leave,” I whisper, because I’m shaken. So shaken. When did he notice those things about me? Why do they make him angry? “Charlie—”

  “You’re right. I should go.” But he’s still coming, still moving toward me. I run into a kitchen stool and send it skidding, my back coming up against the kitchen counter. When he reaches me, my pulse is rioting and it goes crazier when he closes that final gap and drops his forehead into the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry.” His breath is coming out in great, shuddering rushes. “It was a lot today . . . what we talked about. Christ, I’m being such an asshole and you don’t deserve it. You never could. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, Charlie,” I manage to say, my arms aching to go around him. “It’s all right.”

  “We never talked about it afterward. My brother, father and I. We still haven’t.”

  Understanding more about mute parenting style than he realizes, I reach up, wrapping him in an embrace. A tight one. He moves so fast to hug me back, another stool is sent crashing down, jarred by his hip. There’s something about the knocking over of furniture and the way he’s breathing so heavily, holding me so close. It ramps the mood back up to when we were making out in the park, the planet ceasing to spin while we devastated one another with lips and tongues, hands and groans and teeth. I was wet the instant we began, and my panties still hold the uncomfortable weight of that arousal. Now his breath is blowing down the back of my top, his erection nudging my belly button and I’m lost. I’ve been dropped down in the middle of a maze with only one sure path out.

  Maybe Charlie is robbing me of sanity, because this feels almost forbidden. This relationship is supposed to be platonic. I’m meant to be dating, looking for someone to share my days and evenings with. Is this cheating . . . on myself? I don’t know, but letting Charlie overwhelm me is bad, very bad. God help me, though, the bad is what’s getting me off. It’s my mistress blood, I think. Letting a man have me while I’m in the market for another. Giving myself over to a man who isn’t even available. Bad, Ever. I’m ashamed of myself and yet, that’s the very reason I’m unfastening his belt.

  There’s a deep yearning carved inside me that begs to relieve Charlie. Comfort him with my body. It’s biological. It’s undeniable.

  “I need you so bad, Ever. Ever.” His mouth is racing all over my face, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my throat. Those hands start in my hair, scrape down my back and grope my ass. He’s nasty about it, too, pulling my cheeks apart, shaking them, sliding three fingers right down the middle. He keeps going until he’s cupping that soaked part of me through the material of my dress. “Are you letting me? Please say you’ll let me.”

  His question doesn’t require a verbal answer. Instead, I push his jeans down to midthigh, followed by his briefs . . . and there isn’t a woman with a pulse who could stop once she saw his erection. It’s thick and painful looking, prominent veins and a wet head, bobbing against a lickable six-pack. If the kissing hadn’t gotten me so horny, I would kneel and suck for everything I’m worth, but getting him inside me is my world right now. My galaxy. His dilated pupils and frantic hands tell me Charlie is starved for it, too. He unties my halter dress and it slides down my body, like a curtain dropping, leaving me in nothing but drenched, gray cotton panties. At least that’s what I’m wearing until I shimmy them down my legs, giving Charlie’s dick a teasing lick while I’m down there.

  We dive back into a kiss, and it’s a race to get him planted between my legs. I hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper and Charlie’s long, drawn-out grunt as he rolls it on. A hard slap on my ass is the only signal I need to climb aboard—and I do. I throw up my right leg, he catches it under a hooked arm. And then he guides himself to my entrance with the other hand, all while looking me straight in the eye, beneath hooded lids, drawing rough-edged kisses from my abused mouth.

  “No one moves like us, Ever. No one talks to each other without words like us. Don’t you know that?” He grits his teeth, thrusts his hips and . . . sweet Christ, he’s inside me to the hilt. My other leg shoots up and clenches around his hips, giving him my full weight, and it doesn’t faze him at all. He’s too busy moaning with his head thrown back, the tendons of his neck stark and sexy and male. “I’ve been dying for you. Dying. You don’t know what it’s been like.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  His fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, lifting me, grinding me down on his rigid flesh. My clit drags in a delicious path against the slick base of his erection, back up, back down. “You know how hard it’s been? Tell me how you know.” His forehead pushes into mine, his teeth bared. “Tell me.”

  My heels find purchase on his tight ass and we hit an incredible rhythm. I writhe to the tip of his hardness, Charlie gives an upthrust, and at the same time, I roll my hips and drop hard. We’re melded together, a sweaty tangle supported on two legs, and it’s like a naughty fantasy in the flesh. It never stops being that way with Charlie. “You used to come around lunchtime every day . . . and now you don’t, so I—”

  I break off when Charlie strides toward the living room. Hope catches in my throat when I think he’s going to keep walking. Straight into my bedroom, where he’s never been before, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops onto his knees on the couch, impaling me even more fully on his thickness. I’m still screaming from the impact when he turns us around and drops down on top of me, bearing down between my legs. “What do you do at lunchtime, huh?” His inches slide out and slam back in. “Do you lick your fingers and slide them into your pussy, Ever? Yeah, I think you do. I think it’s so hot and sweet and tight, even you can’t resist touching it.”

  “The sink,” I manage, reaching down to palm my breasts. “You pushed me over the kitchen sink once and . . . I loved it.” His gaze is riveted to m
y hands, so I pinch my nipples for him, clenching the inner walls of my center at the same time, my femininity rejoicing in his string of rasped curse words. “I close my eyes and pretend you’re behind me and I touch. I touch myself until it’s all over.”

  God, Charlie goes wild, hearing that. My knees are yanked up near my elbows, and with my head having landed on a pillow, I have a first row seat to watching his ass pump. Those muscles flexing, those cheeks going loose, then bunching on a thrust. I could climax if I watch his hips and buttocks work overtime long enough, but the result of that hard labor has my stomach twisting, my nerves firing, distracting me and forcing my eyes closed so I could embrace the build-up. So good. So good.

  Charlie is close to hitting his peak—he’s chanting my name in that hoarse voice—but he doesn’t ride it out. He slows down, pressing our mouths together, and gives me great, rolling slides that hit me so deep, I forget to breathe. “I want a picture of us together.” Those blue eyes drill into mine. “One where my hands are on you. Touching your hips, your belly. Your face. Need something to look at when I’m not here to remember. Remember I got to feel you. When you’re not under me, I swear I fucking dreamed it all.”

  “Charlie . . .” I whisper, shaken, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s not just a kiss, though. It feels different. Like the never-ending one back in the park, it’s like we’re imploring one another, no idea what we’re actually seeking. What does it say about me that I break away, desperate to get us back on footing I recognize? A place where I’ll still be standing when he leaves after we’re done. “What would you do with the picture?”

  I expect him to say something filthy and he does. “Stroke myself off like an inmate who got his dirty hands on a Maxim. Don’t act like you don’t know, Ever.” But I don’t expect the blow that follows, so I’m not prepared. I’m without armor. “Or I might just stare at it and wondered what the fuck is wrong with me. That I’d stand there, let you tell me you’re going to date other men and not beg you to reconsider.” He burrows his face into my neck and rides me hard. Harder than before. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Ever?”

  My arms band around the breadth of his back, my ankles cross just above those rolling hips. His breath is jagged, his drives relentless . . . and there’s no place to hide from the orgasm that grabs me around the throat. It consumes my body, throwing my back into an arch, turning my eyes blind. “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.”

  My sight returns just enough to watch his jaw lose power, mouth dropping open as he climaxes, his erection straining inside me, hips jerking with powerful spasms. “Oh Christ. Ever. You’re so goddamn tight. So tight, squeezing me like that. You turn me fucking crazy. Coming so good inside you. You make me come so good.”

  I’m depleted of all strength by the time Charlie finishes completely, his weight dropping down on me like a quilt made of sweaty man meat. But the cloud of euphoria is fast to dissipate. A sob tries to climb the inside of my throat, but I trap it. Examine it for meaning. I’ve never cried after sex before. Never even close.

  Because it has never meant anything. Or I’ve never allowed myself to admit the times with Charlie were beginning to mean something, even as far back as when we started meeting. This time, there’s no pretending, though. My feelings for him have catapulted from questionable to stop fooling yourself, idiot. Which is why I’ve allowed this charade of friendship to continue past the point it was wise. And now, I’ll be the walking wounded when he bounces with a wink out my front door. Because he doesn’t want something meaningful with me. This is what he wants. Couch sex. Kitchen counter sex. Even venturing into my room is too personal for him.

  As if he can sense the direction of my thoughts, Charlie’s head comes up and he’s scrutinizing me. Just a gorgeous, scruffy, baffled, beautiful boy. “What is it?”

  His body is too welcome against mine. Too warm and solid. I have to get away before he takes himself away, leaving me feeling like his relief button. Swallowing nails, I scoot out from beneath him and stand, going in search of my dress. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  Charlie stands, already giving me a warning look. “Ever.”

  “I mean it.” I pull up my dress and tie it with shaking fingers. “Please, Charlie, I really need you to leave this time.”

  “Not until you explain why you’re freaking out.” He looks down at the couch, his face the picture of male bafflement. “What happened between then and now?”

  I gather my hair in a bun. Realizing I have no rubber band, I let it drop. Deep breaths. This isn’t like me. I don’t lose my cool and do postorgasm meltdowns. If I can just keep my thoughts from blowing around for one second, maybe I can make him understand. We owe each other understanding, don’t we? “I like you. I really do. But I don’t think we make good friends. Not right now.” I toe my panties, kick them up and shove the material into my pocket. Just for something to do with my hands. “We’re going to fall into the same pattern we were in before. If I let that happen, I’ll never focus on what I want.”

  “What you want? Or what your mother wants?” While I reel, he finishes zipping his pants and takes a long breath. “Look, I’ve put some thought into this. If you want me to go with you to meet your mother, I will. You can call me your boyfriend and put her mind at ease. Whatever you want. I know it’s important not to let her down, and you don’t have to.”

  My mouth and mind sputter in tandem. Oh wow. Oh, this is beyond. “Fake it? You’re asking me to fake having a boyfriend, instead of looking for the real thing? Why would I do that, Charlie? Why?” He doesn’t answer, his jaw stiff, but I can see he wants to take back the offer. He’s maybe even a little ashamed to have made it. “This is about what I want. Not just my mother.” I caved for his needs, even when I knew it was a bad idea, driving home how weak I am when it comes to Charlie. That weakness is only going to be exploited further if we keep seeing each other under the guise of friendship. I always thought the mistress gene ended with me, even though I was playing by the fundamentals. It’s inside me, though, to be the woman Charlie seeks out for relief, and he’s banking on it. Isn’t he? Did he ever want to be my friend in the first place? Or were we on a single lane highway leading to here? I don’t want to be the place where he comes to scratch an itch, then walk away scot free. I don’t want to be that for anyone anymore. “This isn’t only for my mother. I-I don’t like the feeling I get when you leave now. It’s not fun anymore.”

  His face loses some color. “What feeling?”

  “A used one.” The words catch in my throat, and when Charlie staggers back, like he’s been struck, it takes me a moment to gather my courage and continue. “Maybe we were using each other in the beginning, but the balance is off now. And it hurts.” I force my shoulders back. “So I’m asking you to leave. Stop texting, please. Stop calling and respect my decision.” How can I feel my heart racing when my chest seems empty? “I’m going to miss you, but I’d rather miss you than start to hate you.”

  “Ever,” he breathes, his blue eyes tormented. “No. I can do better.”

  Even now, I want to give him that chance, but I bite down on the temptation and shake my head. Secretly, I think I wanted more than friendship from Charlie this whole time, but I’m done waiting around for him to want it, too. Hell, I could be waiting forever. “Go, Charlie.”

  He stares at me for torturous moments, looking haunted, but eventually he falls toward the door, opening it. Thinking he’s leaving and it’s safe to let my strength drain out, I sag against the counter, but Charlie stops at the last minute. He pulls out his cell phone and takes a picture of me, the click sounding unnatural in the silence, then goes.

  Chapter 16

  Charlie

  Fuck, I’m hungover. Did someone use my head to play horseshoes last night? I am never attempting to match Jack shot for shot again. I’m going to die. I want to die. As soon as I left Ever’s apartment last night, I called Jack and met him at a bar. Shock of all shocks, he was already inside one in his old Hel
l’s Kitchen neighborhood. What time did we leave that dive? How did I get home? Why is “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac stuck in my head?

  No clue.

  I only know one thing: Drills start in fifteen minutes and the second I start running, I’m going to throw up. It’s just going to happen. It’s going to be disgusting. I’m probably going to get some fucked up nickname like Pukey, which will follow me around until I retire from the force four decades from now.

  Somehow I’ve managed to dress myself in my uniform, which was a challenge in itself, let alone drilling at eight in the morning, with none other than Greer holding the whistle.

  All of this is cool, though, because I want to die. I do. This is just my version of suicide by cop. I can’t think about the words Ever said to me without wanting to rip my hair out by the roots, hence the fifth of whiskey I put away last night. Why did I take that picture of her? I seem to recall asking myself that same question around one o’clock in the morning, while holding out my phone to a bleary-eyed bartender. It’s not a bad picture. I don’t think Ever is capable of spawning anything bad whatsoever. It’s not pixelated or off center. No, it just happens to be a perfect depiction of loneliness.

  She looked so lonely watching me leave.

  Is that the first time? Or has she always watched me go with that same half-brave, half-dejected expression on her face? I managed to drown those horrifying possibilities in a vat of liquor last night, but I can’t ignore them now. I made her feel used. I hurt her. How was I so fucking unaware?

  Because sure as shit, I was aware of meddling in her life. Screwing with her plans. Showing up at her building with the full intent to take her to bed if she gave me the slightest encouragement. I’m only ignorant when it comes to other people’s needs and feelings. Ever was right to throw me out. For the second time. She might love the sex—God knows we both do—but she sees me for the selfish prick I am.